


The villain of the story

by Justafewthingstosay



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: "When my story came to a close, But stil, F/M, I realised I was the villain all along, I wrote this for a prompt, It took days, Love Letters, M/M, My poor gay baby doesnt deserve this, Original Time, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 14:19:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11232792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justafewthingstosay/pseuds/Justafewthingstosay
Summary: Blood, the colour of the war. Many say that red is the colour of the war, but one cannot classify blood as solely red. Blood is a mixture of not only colours but also of the memories, the love and the pain the person had endured throughout their life. In this war, this mixture of the most precious things in a person's life was coating the floor, like oil on a canvas. And on this day, the canvas would receive a new coat of paint.





	The villain of the story

 

Blood, the colour of the war. Many say that red is the colour of the war, but one cannot classify blood as solely red. Blood is a mixture of not only colours but also of the memories, the love and the pain the person had endured throughout their life. In this war, this mixture of the most precious things in a person's life was coating the floor, like oil on a canvas. And on this day, the canvas would receive a new coat of paint.

Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens was leading part of his unit towards Chehaw Point. It was late and all of them were exhausted, that's what the war does to people, they become tired, of everything, not just because they barely got sleep, but most of them grew tired of living, tired of loving, tired of trying. John Laurens was one of the ones that grew tired, but even with all of this weight on his shoulders, he kept on holding on, he knew that he had to be strong, for his unit, but mostly for his own mind.

His hands were tightly wrapped about the reins of his horse. It was cold and his hands slowly started to loose feeling. Now and then he let go of the reins with one of his hands just to shove it under his jacket to warm it up. They still had a long way in front of them, when suddenly the piercing sound of a gunshot shook the quiet. John’s horse reared up and he almost got caught off guard. With a slashing sound, John pulled out his sword and managed to turn his horse to face the shooter. What he saw was worse than only one shooter.

Around 150 redcoats were storming out of the bushes, attacking his unit. He rode towards a young redcoat and slashed his sword across the upper body of the man. Ripping the clothing and cutting the flesh. With a loud scream the man fell to the ground, John tried to listen to something else, but he could not escape the scream of pain escaping the mouth of the young man. The pain he caused. All he did was cause pain. He caused pain to his wife, to his daughter, to his father, to his friends, but the worse pain he caused, was the pain that he had caused Alexander. His love.

Regret started to fill his mind, his hands started shaking and he felt tears in his eyes. His mind started wandering into the land of his memories. Memories of tears leaving Alexander's brown eyes. His fingers desperately wanted to touch the face of the man who made him see in colour.

John clenched up his eyes, he couldn’t think of this now, he tried to summon happy moments into his mind. His first letter to Alexander, the anxious anticipation of him admitting his love for him in a letter, terrified to hear Alexander’s answer, Alexander’s answer, his words, sweeter than honey and honest. Their first kiss, the looks they shot at each other, the secret meetings just to steal a kiss from the other one’s lips, their nights together.

A loud gunshot shook him out of his mind. His gaze fell on the young dark haired redcoat that he had just wounded. His red uniform, soaked with blood, a pistol in his hand, the cold metal opening pointing directly at John and a sly grin on his face.

That was when John felt it, the hot bullet ripping apart his clothing and slowly, but surely drowning itself in his flesh, just above his hip.

His hand, that instinctively when to hold his blood in the wound, was already covered in the substance that kept him alive. He felt that someone snatched the reins of his horse from his limp fingers. He couldn’t tell who it was, but he felt his horse trot away from the fight.

He was pulled of the horse and saw one of his men, his black skin glistening in the sun.

“Sir, sir. Answer, you will live, understood!” It was less of a question and more of a demand.

John groaned in response. The man started working on John’s wound. Trying to stop the bleeding and clean it with alcohol. The alcohol burned as it disinfected the wound, but John didn’t make a sound. He knew this needed to be done. He knew he needed to survive, for his unit, for his wife, for his friends, but mostly for Alexander. Everything he did, was to see Alexander’s face, to see his smile, to know he was his. For Alexander, he needed to survive.

He tried to regulate his breathing. To think about the good things. His thoughts went from the nights in the bar with the revolutionary crew to Alexander, but here they turned sad.

He seemed to see all of these scenes again, as if he was reliving them

_ “To the groom, To the bride” They yelled with Angelica, John forced a smile on his face, that he was able to hold, with the influence of a lot of beer, until Alexander looked at him, his face slowly changing expression from a smile to regret. John held up his pint of beer to Alex and nodded in his direction before drinking the whole thing. _

_ John saw how hurt Alexander had looked, no not just hurt, but also worried and kind of disappointed. John knew that Alex wasn’t satisfied with Eliza and to be honest, John felt horrible for taking love from his wonderful women. _

_ After their wedding, Alexander came to John. He hugged him, tightly, kissing his cheek. _

_ “It’s not fair” John muttered out, he was very drunk, swimming in the alcohol and his emotions. _

_ Alexander pulled away from John, his eyes were filled with tears, just like John’s. _

_ “I know, it’s not. I’m sorry” Alexander whispered, the tears went on their trail on Alexander's face. _

_ “I loved you first, doesn’t the universe care about that at all? I love you so much more than she does” John cried out, wiping the tears away from his face with his sleeve. _

_ “I love you more than I love her as well, John. Believe me, I really do, but you know why I can’t marry you, I would love to, but I can’t” More tears were shed, before John pulled Alexander in a very tight hug. Asking the world why. _

Looking back on this now, John realised what a villain he always was to Eliza, she was a wonderful girl, that did nothing wrong.

John got light headed from holding his eyes open, so he closed them again. Another memory started rushing over him.

_ He looked around the bar, looked at his best friends, Lafayette and Mulligan, both drinking away, when suddenly, John spotted Aaron Burr, next to him a young dark haired man, with peach fuzz and intelligent eyes. John was intrigued by this man and called Burr over. _

_ After the man introduced himself as Alexander, John could do nothing else, but look at him. _

He huffed out a little laugh. He had fallen in love instantly with Alexander. It was almost sad how fast he had given his heart to this man.    
Yes, it was sad, but it was the only good thing that he did, it was the only thing he ever did right.

His thoughts started wandering towards the letters. The letters in which Alexander promised his love for him, the letters where John told Alex to move on, even though John would never be able to move on. He thought of how he started to become more distant in their letters, even though he needed Alexander more than ever. He needed to feel his warm hand in his, he needed his lips on his, he needed his comforting hug when the world wanted to bring him down. John knew that there was no existing for him without Alexander. He just never wanted to see the day that Alexander died.

He kept holding onto that thought until a sharp pain in his stomach suddenly made him aware that maybe it wasn’t his decision if he would see said day. He opened his eyes and saw the man kneeling over his body, his hands bloody from trying to control the bleeding and trying to keep him alive.

“Sir, please stay alive. We need you, we need you as our hero. Win the war for us and we’ll be free” the man screamed into John’s face, tears running down his cheeks, leaving a glistening trail of pain.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t be your hero, when I was a villain all along” with his last strength he smiled at the man, apologising, before closing his eyes.

_ My love, I will see you on the other side. I will always be yours. _

With Alexander’s face on his mind, a smile on his lips and a screaming voice in his ears, John slowly fall asleep, knowing that he will never wake up again.

 

“Alexander, there’s a letter from South Carolina for you,” Eliza walked up behind Alexander.

“It’s from John Laurens, I’ll read it later!” He waved it off, continuing to write his sixth essay. Anticipation grew in his stomach, he loved to read John’s love filled words. The one good thing in this world, that Alexander could always trust was John.

“No. It’s not.” Eliza stated. Alexander stopped writing, his quill paused in the middle of a word.

“Will you read it?” He asked, his voice cracking and his hands started to turn clammy.

“On Tuesday the 27th, my son was killed in a gunfight against British troops retreating from South Carolina. The war was already over. As you know, John dreamed of emancipating and recruiting 3,000 men for the first all-black military regiment. His dream of Freedom for these men dies with him” She hesitated. “Alexander, are you alright?” He hadn’t moved, hadn’t breathed.

“I have so much work to do, ” He said, his voice coated in pain, sorrow, suffering. Eliza wanted to go and hug her husband but decided against it. She walked out of his office, after leaving the letter on a small table.

As soon as the door closed, Alexander fell to his knees, his hand cupping his face and getting wetter, with every tear that made its way down his cheeks.

“John” He cried out silently. “Why did you never listen? Why did they have to take you from me? How am I supposed to live without you, my angel? You are my medicine, the only thing that keeps me breathing.”

He took out a small portrait that John had once drawn of himself. His fingers carefully caressing the small lines.

“I love you,” He spoke quietly, “I love you more than the clouds love the sky or the sea loves the beach. I love you more than anything has ever loved anything. You were my moon, my sun and my stars. Please just come back. I know you can’t do that, but please do one thing. Wait for me, on the other side.” he pleaded. Tears streaming down his face.

Alexander didn’t leave his office for a week, he didn’t sleep and hardly ate. The weight of John’s death was over him constantly, but that wasn’t the only thing that was with Alexander that belonged to John. Folded neatly in the pocket of his jacket were two pieces of parchment, both works of John.

One was the portrait. The other, the first letter in which John admitted that he loved him.

Alexander carried these two pieces of his life around as if they were parts of his body.

They were with him when Maria Reynolds came into his life, they were with him when Philip died, they were with him when Eliza forgave him. They were with him in New Jersey, the day when Alex decided to give up. To choose Death. To choose John. They were with him when Alexander realised that he was the villain, just like John realised on his deathbed.

And even now, these two old pieces of dirty parchment are with him. Eliza had them placed under his folded hands before they buried him. She knew, she always knew she was not Alexander’s first choice, but for her, that was alright, because, in all three stories of their lives, she was always the hero. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise
> 
> Comments are greatly appreciated!
> 
> If you enjoyed it, please consider buying me a [coffee](http://ko-fi.com/pissoffimrad)


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